The Little Girl Who Wasn't There
by IndigoBlueButterfly
Summary: This is just a random WTNV epsiode I imagined. If people like it, I may continue it using real episodes and characters.


**The Little Girl Who Wasn't There**

A large flurry of black bats may be a sign of the apocalypse. Hurry into your homes, citizens. Welcome, to Night Vale.

Today we discovered a new citizen here, in Night Vale. I don't know if she was always there, but we just couldn't see her, or if she simply appeared here overnight. That has not been verified and we have not been able to contact her to ask for her thoughts on the matter.

According to reports, she was recently seen early this morning, near the old abandoned car lot. Several Night Vale residents described her having hair like white spiders' silk, the side of which covers her right eye. She has skin like fresh milk, and is carrying a small, nondescript box under one arm, and cradling a faded cream coloured teddy-bear to her chest.

They say that she appears to be about six years old, with large eyes the colour of dying star, moments before it collapses in on itself, forming a temporal rift in the fabric of space, time, and our fragile reality. She has lips like a desert rose, and wears a white dress like a sort of nightgown. She does not wear any shoes.

Reports say that she has not spoken to anyone. Or is it that, no one can hear her? Is she simply a mass hallucination that we are all experiencing? Does she even exist, dear listeners? More on this story, later.

Now, I like to introduce a bit of fun into this station. It _is_ a community radio station. The community _should_ enjoy it, right? So let's get into _The Science Corner_. Did you know that we get metals from rocks? Yes, that's right. The metals used to make the many things we use in this town, for example: the bed frames, electrical wires, and the steel cages used to hold incorrect voters and the criminally insane, are all gleaned from rocks. Wow. Isn't that amazing?

The Night Vale high school plans to hold auditions for its Christmas play, which is an adaption of _The Night Before Christmas_. These auditions will be held at the Night Vale high school auditorium. Points will be awarded based on voice quality, acting ability, and survival. Pointed teeth, sharp claws, supernatural abilities of any kind, sunken or nonexistent eyes are a plus. Parts will be awarded to the best actors and actresses, and they will be tied up and pushed into the Whispering Forest to be devoured by the Ghosts of Christmas and Santa Claus, whom we captured several years ago and now keep trapped in a steel cage. His red outfit was tacky.

And now, a word from our sponsors. _Why don't you come on down to the new McDonalds? Try a burger. Try a coke. If you feel like splurging, why don't you try our quality Big Mac? Made from pure wholegrain wheat and sesame seeds. McDonalds, inside each burger is a brain virus. You are now part of the hive mind. You now serve McDonalds. _

Now, more on our story of the little girl in the abandoned car lot. She has left the car lot. She is now standing in front of…oh my. She is standing, directly, in front of the Dog Park. The very Dog Park which does not exist, citizens of Night Vale, and should not be thought about. So please forget what I just said.

Bystanders say she is no longer six years old, but now appears to have aged five years. She is smiling. She is no longer holding the small, nondescript box, but still cradles the faded cream-coloured teddy bear to her chest. She appears to be humming. What is she doing? Why is she here? We don't know.

We've sent our intern Marco, to check this out. He has returned, fortunately. Unfortunately, he seems to have paled considerably, and keeps twitching spasmodically on the floor, and murmuring things about…red eyes…teddy bears…and claws. He was then taken to the Night Vale Community Hospital, where he is expected to make a full recovery.

And now, traffic. I saw a man running, flames licking at skin like burned black parchment and eyes like a terrified rabbit. His legs moved, disembodied, from his body and he pushed forward. He could hear them, the screams, the burning, dying, but he couldn't stop. He had to warn the others. The ember had fallen. The void was upon them. This has been traffic.

I've just received word from the hospital that Marco has recovered. This is good news, listeners, as we can now hear his report of the strange new resident in Night Vale.

Hmmm, it seems he did not get much information after all. He reported that he asked her several questions, mostly about who she was and where she came from. Things that don't really matter. He reported that she did not reply. She did not look at him. Her eyes were still the colour of a dying star, moments before it collapsed in on itself, forming a temporal rift in the fabric of time, space and our fragile reality, only they seemed brighter now. And she was now eleven years old.

Then he asked her about the small, nondescript box she had been holding. She looked at him then, with flashing eyes, and smiled wider. She had teeth like polished white pearls. "What box?" She asked. Marco describes her voice as being like a small, fluffy family pet. Maybe a cat. Yes, a cat, seconds before it scratches your throat, its claws digging into your skin and spraying blood and tissue everywhere.

Marco reported that he did not think it would be wise to reply, though he did report that he asked several more questions, the answers of which he cannot remember at all. In facts, he even doubts asking those questions as he cannot remember those either.

Well, our new neighbour and resident does sound interesting folks! Though, she may not actually be a resident, as the City Council and Sheriff Secret Police vehemently deny her very existence.

And now, the weather. Play _The Man Who Wasn't There._

I've just received a message from the Mayor, who is currently standing outside my studio window and tapping, in frantic Morse Code, the following message: Metals do not come from rocks. That is completely preposterous and untrue. Stop looking at rocks. Stop _thinking_ about rocks. If you see a rock, ignore it and keep walking. If you are holding a rock, put it down. Do not panic, as they _can_ sense fear. Put it down and immediately forget it. It may crawl away. If it does, do not remember.

That is her message. She is still standing out there, although she is not tapping anymore. No, she is simply staring through the window at nothing with hollow eyes. Her lips are moving, but the studio window is soundproof and I cannot hear what she is saying. How unfortunate. Now we shall never know what kernels of wisdom she wanted to impart to us.

Wait, I've just gotten a call from intern Sara, that our new resident is standing outside the studio door. They do not know how she got in, but she has caused Marco to go into a relapse with her sudden appearance. She now seems to have aged five years, and is now sixteen. She is standing next to the mayor, who apparently cannot see her or is denying her very existence.

Well, if she's here folks, then why don't we see if we can get an interview! So mysterious new resident, what is your name.

_Mona._

Her name is Mona everyone. It's a lovely name. Who are you, Mona?

_I am not here. You will not remember me, Cecil. I am not here._

Interesting. She has left the studio folks, though no one can remember how or when she left, or if she was even here at all. I know she was here, dear listeners, because she left behind the strange smell of ozone and spring grass.

Now I leave you with this bit of wisdom, dear listeners: love is disastrous. Love kills. Love twists your heart, squeezes the small, pumping organ vital to your survival, until you are choking, gasping for breath and wish to kill the person you are in love with, just so they cannot affect you like this. That is what love does. Stay tuned, folks, for an hour's special of a man screaming while the sound of dentist's drill plays in the background.

As the glowing lights above Night Vale glow brighter, and while we mere humans come face to face with the insignificance of our own existence and pretend to sleep tonight, I hope you have good dreams. I really do. Goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.

**Thank you**


End file.
